The Stations of the Cross (2) Adapted from www.preachingpeace.org

 It seems to be human nature that we want to leap over the challenging times of life and get to the good parts.  That is understandable.  However, I believe we need to not avoid the dark nights of the soul and embrace, or at least not deny those times.  How can we begin to know something of ourselves and of God when the dark times engulf us and threaten to overwhelm us?  What can we learn from those times when everything including God seems to have abandoned us?  We desire to quickly move from the despair of Good Friday to the joys of Resurrection Sunday.  I used an adaption of the Stations of the Cross on our Good Friday service. 

Last time I introduced the Stations of the Cross and looked at the first five stations.  This time I will finish our journey with Jesus to Golgotha. 

Station VI: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem 

“Weep not for me, but for yourselves and for your children.” The women of Jerusalem want to weep for you as though your fate were unrelated to theirs, as though the violence you suffer did not own them as well. You turn their sympathy back on them; remind them that your fate is their fate, too.

How many times have we contemplated your Passion, Lord, and wanted to cry for you? How many times have we wanted to weep because of your pain, and not because we caused it? How often have we blinded ourselves to our complicity in violence by feeling sorry for the victims?

Station VII: Jesus falls Again

Jesus, you have done all that you can do. When you fall this last time, you entrust the remainder of what must be done to us. There is no more strength. You are utterly beaten, defeated, but we are not finished. Like the potter’s clay, we will now make you into what we need you to be.

How many times have we seen another’s weakness as an opportunity to shape them, to change them into what we want them to be? How many times do we take advantage of the fact that you are too weak to resist, Jesus, and fasten you to the Cross?

Station VIII: Jesus is nailed to the Cross

Hanging for hours on a cross is not cruel enough, Jesus. Watching you suffocate will not mollify our rage. Life has been so unfair to us, we have such rage that we have to use nails, instead of the traditional ropes. Rage bleeds away as nails, meant for wood, cut easily through human flesh.

How many times have we allowed our rage to drive us to cruelty? Cruel acts? Cruel speech? How many times has another borne the scars of our rage?

Station IX: Jesus dies on the Cross

We stand in stunned silence as we survey the result of our sin. The Lord of Life hangs dead from the tree. The peace we pursued as we chased you up the hill refuses to come. As we gaze upon you, Jesus, our victim, the realization dawns. Violence will never again bring peace, and we are terrified.

Mute with horror, we stumble to our homes, as though the earth were moving under our feet. The ground itself seems unsteady as we contemplate a world without violence. On what will we stand?

Station X: Jesus is taken down from the Cross.

We have all departed by the time the guards permit those who love you to bring you down from the Cross. Once the spectacle ended, we are compelled to leave. There is something horrible and fascinating about you as you hang there, and it frightens us. We leave the task of dealing with your body to those who are already unclean.

How often, O Lord, have we fled our own horror, left the care of the dead and the dying to others? How many times have we let our fear of the power of death drive us into hiding?

Station XI: Jesus is laid in the tomb 

In a tomb that you could never have afforded, those who did not abandon you, those who refused to join the mob, lay your body to rest with great tenderness. There is nothing divine in the torn flesh, nothing holy in the bloodied brow. There is only sorrow, deeper than the greatest trenches in the ocean. Sorrow.

You will breathe life once again into our deadened spirits, Jesus, but not on this day. Today we walk as those robbed of hope, shuffling from one place to another as though we belonged in the tomb with you. Perhaps, without the breath of your new life, that is precisely where we belong.

Silence

The Stations of the Cross Adapted from www.preachingpeace.org

It seems to be human nature that we want to leap over the challenging times of life and get to the good parts.  That is understandable.  However, I believe we need to not avoid the dark nights of the soul and embrace, or at least not deny hose times.  What can we begin to know something of ourselves and of God when the dark times engulf us and threaten overwhelm us?  What can we learn from those times when everything including God seems to have abandoned us?  We desire to quickly move from the despair of Good Friday to the joys of Resurrection Sunday.  I used an adaption of the Stations of the Cross on our Good Friday service.  Here are the first five stations.  I will finish the journey with Jesus to Golgotha in my next edition.

 Station I: Jesus is condemned to die

Pilate said, “I find no fault with this man,” but when the crowd grew loud, he grew silent. “I wash my hands. You deal with him.” Pilate had the knowledge and the power to stand and say no to the world as it sought to crush the Lord of Life. He didn’t use either.  How many times do I have the knowledge and the power to say no, and stay silent? How many times do I participate, by my silence, in the Passion of Jesus? Who will die because I do not say no?

 Station II: Jesus takes up his cross. 

 This cross has been thousands of years in the making. Its weight grows greater each time I look for someone to blame for the pain in my world. Each time I insist that sin must be punished, I add an ounce to the burden Jesus carries for me.  This is the cross he carries, the cross of blame, of vengeance.  When have I said, “Well, he certainly deserved that!” or “It’s only fair. Look at what she did!”  When have I failed to forgive as I have been forgiven. When have I laid more weight on your blessed shoulders?

 Station III: Jesus falls the first time

The laughter at your first fall is transformative, Jesus. The gathered “I’s” surrounding you laugh together, becoming a “we” for the first time. We laugh together; we reduce you to a joke, to something less than a man. Your first fall is the fall of my “I.” I am lost now, in the collective “I” of the mob.  How many times, Lord, have I sacrificed my “I” as I took satisfaction or pleasure in the fall of another?

Station IV: Jesus meets his mother. 

We want to make you a clown. We want to isolate you completely, but your mother will not permit it. She withstands the blows of taunt and sorrow to be present for you along the way. She alone remains to give you courage, to remind us that you are someone’s child, just like we are.

 How many times, Lord, have we watched another suffer, but from a safe distance? How many times have you looked out through the eyes of another for comfort, but were unable to find it?

 Station V:  Simon helps Jesus carry the Cross 

We need you to die, Jesus, but our rage has gone too far. You are too weak to continue on to the head of the mountain because we have beaten you so severely. When you can’t go on by yourself, we look for a solution that won’t involve us too closely. We mustn’t touch the cross ourselves, but the process must go on. Then we find our answer. A stranger, someone who obviously has no idea who you are will carry the cross. He knows nothing of your innocence. ow many others have we called on to do our violence for us? How many soldiers pulled triggers because we could not? How many executioners pushed buttons for us? 

Ninety Years Without Slumbering

 A week ago, I had trouble sleeping as sometimes happens now that I am in my maturity.  I got up around midnight and took in a rerun of a Twilight Zone episode.  This one was entitled Ninety Years Without Slumbering.  Each episode begins with a narration.  Here’s the narration for this episode:

Each man measures his time; some with hope, some with joy, some with fear. But Sam Forstmann measures his allotted time by a grandfather's clock, a unique mechanism whose pendulum swings between life and death, a very special clock that keeps a special kind of time—in the Twilight Zone.

This episode was based, as you might surmise, on the old song, The Grandfather Clock.  To summarize the song, it has the old man, who is in a close relationship with the grandfather clock, dies when the clock stops shirt, never to go again.

 It was a pretty good episode – not one of the best in my opinion – but enjoyable as almost all the episodes of this classic series are.  It was a clever idea which had a twist at the end as all Twilight Zone episodes must.  The old man in the episode was played by venerable character actor Ed Wynn, who fit the part of the old man perfectly. All well and good.  However, there was a suprize ending for me personally.  I was watching this on the eve of my seventy-sixth birthday on April 1, 2025.  And as I have been saying, at this stage in my life, there’s no fools like an old fool.

The surprise for this fool was that the Sam Forstmann character played by Ed Wynn was – you guessed it – seventy- six years old.  Now you have to appreciate that Ed Wynn appeared in my eyes to be exactly what he was portraying - an old man.  There was no way, in my mind’s eye, that I was an old man – even if I was about to turn 76.  I am able to rationalize the dissonance of this by saying that 76 today is not what it was in 1963 when it was aired.  In those ancient days 76 was old – wasn’t it?  Well, I can consol myself that 76 today is the new fifty or perhaps 60 – if I want to kid myself.  Some days I don’t feel that old.  However, some days I do – especially after a less than good night’s sleep.

In any case, I must admit that I don’t look 50 or even 60 if I look closely at my reflection – if the lighting is good.  My days are dwindling down to a precious few- or hopefully, perhaps more than a few.  It matters more than even what I do with the time I have left – however long that is.

Thoughts for the journey.

 

ordo amoris

Time seems to be taking on a life of its own in Trump-time and things might have happened yesterday or a few weeks ago – perhaps that is a result of Trump ‘flooding the zone’ in every possible way in the United States and beyond its borders.  A while ago? – United States Vice-president J.D. Vance used a theological term, ordo amoris, to justify the Trumpian approach the United States government is using in its actions to eliminate foreign aid. 

Here’s the statement by Vance on this:

But there’s this old-school concept—and I think a very Christian concept, by the way—that you love your family, and then you love your neighbor, and then you love your community, and then you love your fellow citizens in your own country, and then after that you can focus and prioritize the rest of the world.

Basically, Vance is using this principle to justify the approach by the Trumpian government to say charity begins and ends at home.  I guess he might grudgingly agree that if the needs of all Americans are met, they might give the few crumbs under the Trumpian table to non-Americans.  Putting aside the conclusion that the Trump government is doing everything they can to not share the wealth with people at home, this understanding of ordo amoris seems to be off base to say the least.

I must admit that I was unfamiliar with ordo amoris before it was used by Vance.  One definition on-line defines it this way:

"Ordo amoris," meaning "order of loves" or "ordered loves," is a theological concept explored by St. Augustine in his "City of God," emphasizing the importance of loving God above all else and arranging our affections in a way that reflects God's goodness.

I believe that Vance, who recently converted to the Roman Catholic faith, should perhaps review what Jesus Christ said about all this.  He stated, when asked which are the greatest commandment, replied:  

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  There is no commandment greater than these.

The account in the Gospel of Luke has a smart-ass lawyer asking Jesus in response, “who is my neighbour.”  Jesus responds with the parable of the Good Samaritan.  The lawyer was probably the J.D. Vance of Jesus' time, but he seemed to get the point that charity Is not restricted to the home-front.  Jesus chose the Samaritan to be the example to live up to because they were not who that lawyer or other Jews thought of as their neighbours.  They were, in effect, the black sheep of the Semite family. 

So, does odor amoris mean that we should give to foreigners in needs above those close to us – starting with our family and working outward and eventually getting to some person or persons we don’t know in a far away land – if there is anything left to give? 

Here is a good response I found on The Catholic World Report https://www.catholicworldreport.com/2025/02/10/vice-president-vance-the-good-samaritan-and-the-order-of-love/

The principle of the ordo amoris, however, is a counsel of prudence; it is not an absolute moral maxim; it presupposes that all other things are equal. But if all other things are not equal, our evaluation of whom to prioritize may change. A greater need in a more distantly related neighbor, which I can alleviate here and now, should often be given preference over a lesser need in a more closely related neighbor.

The principle in all this is Love.  This is the message of Jesus Christ.  The challenge of Christians is, how do we show the love of Jesus to our neighbours.  Something to contemplate and respond to on your journey.

  

The Parable of the Stones

 I was rereading chapter 4 of the Prodigal God, by Timothy Keller, in preparation for our book study tomorrow.  Keller recounts the apocryphal parable i.e. not in the bible, of Peter and the stones.  It is recounted below:

One day Jesus said to his disciples: “I’d like you to carry a stone for me.”  He didn’t give any explanation. So the disciples looked around for a stone to carry, and Peter (bless his heart), being the practical sort, sought out the smallest stone he could possibly find.  After all, Jesus didn’t give any regulation for weight and size! So, he put it in his pocket.

Jesus then said: “Follow Me.” He led them on a journey.
About noontime Jesus had everyone sit down. He waved his hands, and all the stones turned to bread. He said, “Now it’s time for lunch.”  In a few seconds, Peter’s lunch was over.  When lunch was done Jesus told them to stand up.

He said again, “I’d like you to carry a stone for me.”
This time Peter said, “Aha! Now I get it!” So, he looked around and saw a small boulder. He hoisted it on his back, and it was painful, it made him stagger.  But he said, “I can’t wait for supper.”  Jesus then said: “Follow Me.” He led them on a journey, with Peter barely being able to keep up. Around supper time Jesus led them to the side of a river. He said, “Now everyone throw your stones into the water.”

They did. Then he said, “Follow Me,” and began to walk.
Peter and the others looked at him dumbfounded.
Jesus sighed and said, “Don’t you remember what I asked you to do?  Who were you carrying the stone for?”

In this season on Lent, it may be helpful to consider what stones you are carrying and for whom you are carrying them.

Being Truly Humble

I am currently leading a Lenten book study at my church, St. John the Evangelist, Strathroy, Ontario.  We are studying The Prodigal God by Timothy Keller.  The book is an analysis of Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son. 

One of the points the author makes is that the Father in the parable puts aside his station and acts in a way that the patriarch in his time would not.  He accedes to the demand of the younger, prodigal son to give him his share of his inheritance.  Keller notes that this is like the son saying to the father, you are dead to me as the inheritance would not be given until the father was dead.  If this happened in that time, the father would normally have disowned and driven out the son in disgrace.  Further, when the prodigal younger son comes to his senses and returns in defeat, the father sees him in a distance and runs to greet him.  Keller notes that in those times, a patriarch would never run as it was undignified.

In effect, the father in the parable is portrayed by Jesus as putting aside his pride and humbling himself because of his love for his son.  I would like to explore what it means to be humble.  I believe that the key to true humility is to see yourself clearly. 

Cole Arthur Riley declares, “I linger in the mirror, and I don’t look away.”  To see yourself and not look away is, I believe, key to self-knowledge which, in turn, is necessary for true humility.  It can be a challenge to see yourself clearly.  I remember reading a definition of humility that really grabbed hold of me.  To be truly humble is to see yourself clearly.  This was a bit of a puzzle initially, but on reflection, I realized that if you see yourself clearly you will realize that you are not the self-image that you have constructed for yourself – this is sometimes called the persona.  To look in the mirror and not look away is to see yourself clearly with all the wrinkles and spots - age spots and a hairline which seems to be receding each day.  Of course, that is the physical part of myself.  It is also true for the soul and spirit as well as the body.  The impulse is to look away or at least not look too closely at any of these parts.

Author Judy Cannato speaks of an alternative way of looking at yourself in all your imperfections.  It is to take a long loving look at the real:

She speaks of the approach to contemplation by “Dorothee Sölle [1929–2003] who maintains that radical amazement is the starting point for contemplation. Often, we think of contemplation as a practice that belongs in the realm of the religious, some esoteric advanced stage of prayer that only the spiritually gifted possess. This is not the case…. The nature of contemplation as I describe it here is one that lies well within the capacity of each of us. To use a familiar phrase, contemplation amounts to “taking a long loving look at the real.”

God knows – literally and figuratively – that there are aspects of myself which I wish I didn’t have.  They are the ghosts that visit me at 4:00 in the morning – things I have done I wished I had not done or had done differently and the things I had not done I wish I had done – it is tempting to complete this with the line form the prayer in the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, ‘and there is no health in me’.  But no matter in what way my reality of myself does not live up to my self-image, I know that there is health in me because I am created by a loving God. 

However, what I have learned over the years is that I am loved despite, or perhaps even because, of who I am.  I can love myself because this is the way that I was made with my strengths and weaknesses.  I can love myself because God created me this way and God loves all that God created.  I have not learned this easily and am still learning it.

I will close with another saying about humility, ‘being truly humble means that you cannot be humiliated.’  As someone who has been humiliated at times in my life, I know that I have not achieved true humility despite my best efforts.  That is something I can seek this season of Lent.

May you be blessed to greet the person you see each morning in the mirror with humility and also acceptance and understanding.

 

Lent for All of Us

 Sunday was the first Sunday of Lent.  Lent is not something that you will find in the bible.  There is no Lenten observance in the bible.  It was not and is not part of the Jewish religion, so it was not something that Jesus observed or even the first Christians who were all Jews. It is one of the seasons in the church year like Advent or Pentecost or Christmas or Easter.  Advent and Lent are similar in that they are times of preparation.  Advent is a time of preparation for Christmas and in the same way Lent is preparation for Easter. 

Lent began last Wednesday, and we marked it with the Ash Wednesday observances.  If you were at the Ash Wednesday service here or other places you would have received a cross in ashes on your forehead.  The ashes were produced by burning the palm crosses from last Easter. 

When the priest marks you with the cross, he or she states, ‘remember you are dust and to dust you shall return.’  It is a reminder that we are mortal and our time on earth is limited.  We must consider how we use that time.  We know that we do not always live the life God intends for us.  That is one way of looking at sin.  We sin when we separate ourselves from God and do not live God intends us to live. 

So, we are now in a time of preparation for Easter.   We have forty days in total to reflect on our lives, to repent those things that keep us from being in relationship with God.  We do this in two ways.  First we acknowledge that we have done things we should not have done and commit to not do them.  Second, we acknowledge those things we have not done that we should have done and commit to doing them.  We know that being human and imperfect we will not succeed all the time but we have the intention of making the effort to do just that.  Often in Lent we focus on giving up something as a sacrifice.  We will forego something that we desire as a way of following God.  We can give up a favourite food or some activity we enjoy as a symbol of our need to change our lives.  You could call this the way of negation.  You can also take the way of affirmation by doing something that you have not been doing previously.  This could be contributing time, energy, and financial resources assist those in need. 

Lent is, in its essence, a Christian practice.  However, it can be helpful for non-Christians.  Here is a quote from a Christian source, Anne Germond, the acting Primate of the Anglican Church of Canada, which can be applied to everyone’s life in this time:

But what if we thought of Lent as a God-given time of disruption the normal flow of our lives, inviting us to re-examine them, laying bare and shining the spotlight on all that is wrong – the pathological unease or “disease” in our world?  In the context of global warming, greed, violence abroad and at home, and of our inability to seek peace with our neighbours…

 

I found the following on the internet which addresses both ways – giving up things i.e. fasting and doing something new i.e. feasting or feeding our souls:

Fast from fear; Feast on Faith
Fast from despair; Feed on hope.
Fast from depressing news; Feed on prayer.
Fast from discontent; Feast on gratitude.
Fast from anger and worry; Feed on patience.
Fast from negative thinking; Feast on positive thinking.
Fast from bitterness; Feed on love and forgiveness.
Fast from words that wound; Feast on words that heal.
Fast from gravity; Feast on joy and humour.

May we all find ways to fast and feast in this season of Lent.